Cold Silver
by The Once and Future Geek
Summary: The Company screwed him. It's time for revenge, and Riddick is getting help from a very unlikely source. Rated R for violence and language, partial nudity and adult situations. Read and Review if you like, but like most fanfic, this is mostly for me.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This was a story after I realized that there was very little about Riddick's background (i.e. how did he become a criminal) that I knew about. And then I found the Riddick-wiki and learned about the Company (of which there is next to know information). And I thought, 'wouldn't it be nice if he could get revenge on them for screwing him?'

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><p>Richard B. Riddick watched the sensibly dressed woman drop from the ceiling onto the only merc left in the room with wary curiosity as well as a small and quickly fading sense of loss. He really wanted to take that one out himself. Once the merc was down and out, the woman got to her feet and went to the doors, closing them, locking them, and rigging them to stay closed before turning to look at him for the first time.<p>

He almost didn't see the hesitation before she walked right up to where he was almost fully bound and reached around his head to unhook the bit between his teeth. He drew what information he could from her scent. Leather, sweat, machine oil, metal...she smelled like a merc. He checked his curiosity and prepared himself for whatever as she pulled back, easing the bit out of his mouth and tossing it aside with a speculative eyebrow. She brought something out from behind her back and dropped it in his lap before looking into his eyes. Eyes left unshielded, thanks to Toombs.

He'd seen men larger than himself flinch at the sight of those eyes. She barely even blinked.

"We've got maybe seventy seconds before Toombs comes runnin'. Can you move?" she asked. His head shifted just a little to the left as he considered her strange question as well as its direct delivery without blinking. All business.

He could do that.

"Not in this rig," he replied, shrugging to indicate his restraints. She glanced at the specialized chair that held him before pulling a magnetic master key from a small, hidden pocket of her sleeve and swiping it expertly over the chair's control panel as he watched, his stony face betraying no significant emotional reaction to this profoundly telling gesture. He picked up the leather bundle that she'd dropped in his lap and stepped out of the chair, surreptitiously stretching his shoulders as he watched her dig a few things out of the pack she was carrying. His eyes dropped to the pouch in his hands and he unwrapped it, eyebrow jumping up his forehead as he stared down at a pair of goggles and a familiar looking knife holster. He glanced back at the woman in time to catch a confusing tangle of nylon and buckles.

"Body Harness," she explained, and he tossed it on the chair, first donning the goggles – almost identical to the ones that Toombs had taken off him – then the holster, a familiar and comforting weight between his shoulders. Finally he donned the harness, watching the woman, who was watching the doors as though she expected them to be broken down at any moment. He considered - as he tightened the straps of his harness - the way her attention was focused, not on the man wanted for murder as well as various less fatal but still terrifying crimes, but on the door. As if she hadn't considered that this man might turn on her.

She'd unlocked the chair with a mag-card – official, by the neutral chirp of the console as she'd swiped it. A Company ship, with Company restraints required a Company key card.

Which meant a Company Bounty Hunter. Capital letters. All bad news.

He did not display his intrigued surprise when she turned before his hand could reach for the knife, a gun that seemed to go from hip to hand without any action in between pointed at his head. Her expression was calm and unsurprised.

"Not right now," she told him, and her tone suggested she had expected him to attempt to kill her. He considered this. It was interesting. She arched an eyebrow. "Later, maybe. Now is for getting our asses back to my ship before Toombs thinks to—" She cut herself off at the subtle hissing sound that was suddenly present in the room and cursed, reaching behind her. Riddick tensed, but it was just a couple of clear-faced gas masks, one of which she tossed to him, donning her own and securing it before making sure that he had done the same. She holstered her sidearm and secured it with a strap before pulling a communicator off her belt and pulling it to her face. "Boomer, I need another distraction," she said. Riddick's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly at a string of colorful and volatile curses that erupted from the speaker before she could turn it off and clip it back to her belt. She seemed unconcerned by it, looking at him and jerking her thumb towards the ceiling. "That way," she told him.

He looked up.

The ceiling was forty feet above them, but he could clearly see the point of egress, an open hatch in the ventilation shaft that ran through the room. His expression didn't change as he looked from the inaccessible hole to the crazy lady who was busting him loose. She was pointing a small grappling gun at the hole, answering his unasked question of how the hell they were supposed to get there. Once it was secured, she let it hang there, pulling on some straps that were attached to her clothes.

"Come here and hold this," she ordered, and he did so – more out of curiosity than anything else, holding the small, vaguely crossbow shaped weapon and watching with some interest as she turned, pressing her back to his front as she passed the strap to him. "Cross those behind your back and bring them over your shoulders," she said. He smirked then, doing as told, but not without issue. As she took the second strap from him to clip back to her suit, she froze, looking down at the hand that had settled itself on her hip, only momentarily distracted from it by a sudden pounding on the door. "Mind on the mission, convict," she snapped, swatting his hand away and drawing her weapons, which she held trained on the door someone was trying to break down. "Whenever you're ready," she added, and he rolled his eyes behind his goggles, pressing the button that would pull them upwards towards escape.

She watched the door as they ascended towards the ceiling, keeping quiet as the door was finally forced open and six mercs filed in, guns raised. They immediately noticed the somewhat conspicuous absence of their cargo and searched the room, but she remained silent until their searching gaze eventually – inevitably – drifted upwards and spotted them. She pulled the trigger six times, one bullet per merc, and Riddick glanced down to find that they were all rolling on the floor holding some part of their body, but that they were all still alive. She shot to maim.

_Bounty Hunters_... he thought, disgusted, as they reached the vent and he hauled them both inside. As soon as they were safely inside, she hit the release button on her suit's harness and rolled off of him as if this were the ordinary course of business between them, crawling off down the shaft without waiting for him to make up his mind to follow her. He watched her leather-clad ass shimmy away and considered his options.

She muttered to herself as they crawled, recounting the way back to the ship, he supposed, but he kept silent, only grimacing a few times when the ship gave a few unexpected lurches. Up ahead, the woman sighed, shaking her head.

"Boomer," she muttered, a smile tugging at her lips. It made him wonder what the hell 'Boomer' was doing.

When they finally crawled out of the shaft, it was into an empty hallway, and the woman checked both ways before grabbing hold of the wall when the ship suddenly decelerated. She frowned, picking the communicator off her belt.

"Boomer," she radioed.

Silence.

"Boomer, come in," she hissed, cursing when there was no reply. Riddick watched her silently reassess, while he listened to her heart-rate double. Concern for 'Boomer'? Or for the plan?

They both looked up when a short burst of static followed by feedback indicated someone turning on the ship-wide.

"Valentine," came Toombs's gravelly voice, in a tone that indicated he was just now catching on. She cursed, looking around the hall. She spotted a door, checking it quickly, and then ushering Riddick inside before locking them in. He watched her silently while inside his mind associations were being formed and recalled.

Valentine. He knew that name. He'd been chased by that name before. Never really got a good look at the name's owner. Staring at her now, he wondered if that had been intentional or just luck on her part.

"Va-len-ti-i-ine," Toombs crooned over the intercom. She sneered. "You tryin'a scoop my bounty, Valentine?" he asked. She arched an eyebrow, staring at the small screen on her communicator.

"That's right, Toombs, keep being an idiot," she muttered to herself. She pressed a button on the screen and the small, dark space was made less dark by a small, softly strobing blue light. She sighed, relieved, and he heard her heart slow back into a steady beat as she pushed the talk button. "Boomer, are you there?" she asked. There was a brief crackle of static.

"The fucker almost killed me, Val," was the terse reply. She closed her eyes briefly, smiled and shook her head, relief pouring off her.

"You'll get over it," she quipped. "We're almost to the pick-up point," she told him.

"Won't do you much good. No way I'm getting close again, he'll pick me off like the juiciest fly in a box full of frogs," was Boomer's answer. "Plan B," he added, and Valentine made a face.

"I hate Plan B," she muttered, before pressing the button. "Understood. Out," she reported, before turning it off and stuffing it back onto her belt.

"What's Plan B?" Riddick asked. She tilted her head at him.

"Can you fly?" she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I forgot to add the traditional disclaimer in the first chapter. Oops. In any case, I own Valentine and her crew and the plot and not much else.

As they entered the hangar bay, Riddick was intrigued – vaguely, in a 'not-much-else-to-think-about' sort of way – by Toombs's use of such a large craft, knowing that the merc preferred to use smaller, more maneuverable ships that could fit into smaller avenues. However, since it was to his advantage that the ship was so large it had smaller craft in the hangar bay, he chose not to question it. He started to head towards a fast looking bird, only to snap a sharp glance at Valentine when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Not that way," she told him and he paused, glancing at the little two-seater before following her to the hangar doors, where there were two cloth bundles. She tossed him one and he noted – with a distinct lack of enthusiasm that he found in her expression as well – that it was a Jump suit.

For jumping out of aircraft.

"You've got to be kidding," he told her.

"Shut up and suit up," she replied, working the straps of the bundle. She froze suddenly and looked past him and he whirled to find Toombs walking slowly towards them with a large caliber weapon. She cursed, dropping the bundle and getting to her feet, hands on her head. Riddick did the same, his expression giving no indication as to how annoyed he really was.

"Valentine," Toombs greeted.

"Toombs," she replied, just short of openly hostile. She could have frozen a lake with that tone of voice. Toombs smirked.

"Come on, Valentine, you didn't think I'd remember _this_ old chestnut?" he asked mockingly, and she sighed,

"Actually, Toombs, I counted on it," she told him. He had time to blink before the gun appeared from the holster at the back of her suit's neckline, and she shot him in the shoulder, throwing off his aim long enough for her to rush forward and punch him in the face. His head snapped back and impacted the wing of one of the smaller ships. He hit the deck and passed out.

Riddick watched the whole thing without moving, quietly impressed as he watched her cuff Toombs to the grate and then gesture to the side of the hangar, where he was content (for now) to go and wait. She reached into the bundle she had dropped and pulled out a smaller bundle of straps, which she began to secure to her arm. Whatever it was, it was meant to hang on to her, ensuring it wouldn't slip off with the inclusion of two torso straps, which she dutifully buckled as she joined Riddick on the side of the hangar. She attached the other end of the arm brace to the railing there, glancing at the convict at her side briefly before reaching out and grabbing onto his harness to pull him closer. She used the buckles on her suit to link them together, checking their security before looking up at him.

"You may want to grab onto something," she advised him.

"That an invitation?" he replied. She blinked, arching an eyebrow at him before lifting her communicator from her belt.

"Boomer, we're in position. Just the doors, if you can manage," she said, before backing up and grabbing onto the railing with both hands. Noting her tense expectation, Riddick did the same.

He was surprised as hell to see the Buick sized arrowhead that shredded the doors like so much cheese, passing through them, and the ceiling of the hangar bay before stopping. He and Valentine both hugged the bars as the atmosphere outside rushed in and tried to suck them out. When it finally equalized, the bounty hunter wasted no time in unhooking herself.

"Let's go," she said, walking over. Their connected harnesses made it difficult to do anything but follow, but when she clipped the arm harness to the line leading out of the ship, he refused to go any further. She glanced at him when moving away felt like trying to walk with a boulder attached and rolled her eyes.

"This is your escape plan?" he asked, incredulous.

"No. This is Plan B. Fuckin' _hate_ Plan B," she replied emphatically.

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><p>Valentine looked up at Riddick's unreadable face and felt something twist in her gut.<p>

The man with the million dollar bounty had just saved her bounty-hunting ass from falling out of the ship in high altitude. She wondered why.

"Excuse me, but do you mind waiting until we reach a planet with a motel so the two of you can get a room?" asked a young, male voice filled with sarcasm. They both looked to see a boy of about sixteen standing in the doorway to the cargo bay, arms folded, scowl just inches from bursting onto his face, if it could work its way past the wary focus that currently sat there, directed at Riddick from behind the small gun he was holding.

His hands shook.

"You wanna point that thing somewhere else, kid," Riddick warned him in a soft, but informative voice. The boy's eye started to twitch. "Before I start to take it personal," he added, getting to his feet. Valentine did also, stepping between them and walking over to the young man.

"Boomer," she said, and he glanced at her before sullenly lowering his trembling arm. She nodded, taking the gun away from him and checking it. "Nice work with the Grappler," she told him, as if detaching the line and using the small metal barb as a ballistic weapon hadn't almost caused her untimely demise. The boy folded his arms.

"Improv. Not my strongest point," he replied. She arched an eyebrow. "You gonna shoot him or what?" asked the boy. Val tilted her head, checked the magazine and shrugged. The boy looked appalled. "What, you're just gonna let the crazy killer run loose on my ship?" he asked, bristling like a cat ready to claw something's eyes out. She shot him a sharp glance.

"Hey, what'd I say about name calling?" she snapped.

"_Your_ ship?"

The question was soft, but the voice carried, and Boomer glanced at the goggled man who stood in the cargo bay.

"Yeah, my ship. _I_ built it, you got somethin' to say?" he snapped. Valentine scowled, shifting her weight.

"Hey, _check_ yourself, Boomer, or _I'll_ do it," she snapped back. Boomer glared at her. "You're pissed. Me too. Same side, remember?" she added. He leaned back against the doorway, arms folded, not looking at them anymore as he thought dark, violent thoughts. Val sighed and looked at Riddick. He had a knife in his hand and he was waiting. Movement of the gun was going to send him into action and as far away as she was, she wasn't sure she'd get her shot before he got to her.

Or to Boomer.

She looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then looked wearily back at him.

"You hungry at all? I think there are some leftovers in the galley," she said, and his head tilted just slightly before the goggles turned down, pointing at the gun. She shrugged unapologetically. "The plan was to knock you out and tie you up so I wouldn't have to worry about you trying to kill me while I explained why I busted you out of Toombs's possession – at least until the end of the conversation, when I would inevitably have to untie you. That was the plan," she said. He remained silent, and she shrugged again. "Plans change." She ignored Boomer's scoff and groan, watching Riddick watch the gun, lifting it and watching his goggles track it. "It's just a tranq gun," she told him, in what he was sure she thought was a reassuring tone of nonchalance. "See?" she asked, and casually pointed it at Boomer, who had half a second to blink dumbly before she pulled the trigger. He gave a small grunt, looking down at the dart that was sticking out of his chest and uttering half a curse before slumping against the doorway. Valentine caught him, eased him gingerly over her shoulder and shot an arched eyebrow at Riddick before walking away.

"You make a habit of drugging your own crewmembers?" asked the quiet convict, following Valentine down the hallway, ready to kill her if she moved wrong. She just sighed, shifting Boomer.

"He needs the sleep; he's been awake for four days straight," she told him. That piqued his curiosity, which he hid with a sarcastic comment.

"Preparing to retrieve little old me?" he asked. She arched an eyebrow at the thinly veiled bid for information.

"Sorry, Riddick, you have very little to do with Boomer's insomnia," she replied shortly. He filed away the non-answer and hung back in the doorway of the room that Valentine opened and walked into, watching her ease the teenager into an overstuffed chair and drape a small blanket over him before returning to the hall. Leaning in the doorway, he watched the kid sleep before looking at Valentine, who paused in the hall when he didn't follow her. She waited for him to say something, but he just stood there, head tilted to one side as he studied her. She adjusted her stance, gun hand tightening just slightly, as if expecting him to attack – an action that was not lost on Riddick, whose head tilted the other way. "What?" she asked shortly.

"I'm just trying to decide how I feel about being saved the trouble of escaping _myself_ by a bounty-hunter and her teenaged kid," he replied in a calm, casual voice. She relaxed slightly, leaning back against the wall.

"Actually, he's my nephew, we—" she started, but Riddick became a blur, and she started to raise the tranq gun, but it was knocked out of her hand before one of his much stronger hands closed on her throat, his blade resting against her cheek.

His expression hadn't changed.

"Gimme one reason I don't ghost you both right now, take your ship and disappear," he said, and she stared back at him, forcing her heartbeat to a less athletic rhythm, something that made his concealed eyes narrow.

"I'll give you two," she said, watching his jaw clench and trying not to move her cheek muscles as the blade pressed a little harder into her face. "First, I had Boomer calibrate the ship's systems so only he or I could fly it, and until I secure a guarantee that you won't – as you say – 'ghost us both', that's the way it stays," she said, and the growled sigh that issued from his throat told her that he was grudgingly impressed as well as marginally annoyed by the inconvenience, but the blade stayed where it was.

"What's the second reason?" he asked. She said nothing for a moment, and he looked at the wrist of the hand he had wrapped around her throat when she put her hand on it. There was a moment of tension, and then the shiv returned to its holster. The hand around her throat stayed, and he leaned his other hand flat against the wall, his face expressively blank. She rolled her eyes.

"Second, if you killed me, you'd be doing the Company that screwed us both a huge favor. Hell, they would probably give you some kind of medal," she told him. There was a moment where neither of them moved; he stared at her, she stared at him, and the both of them were silent until at last his fingers loosened and he stepped back from her, folding his arms

The Company.

The same assholes who condemned him to a life of constant running and endless, exhausting paranoia after years of being one of their best men. Something this woman had done pissed them off so much that she'd been forced to come find the only other person in the known verse who knew what the Company was. He kind of liked that thought, but tried not to look too closely at why. After last time, he'd learned that it paid to avoid introspection.

But payback...

"I'm listening," he said, and she nodded, gesturing down the hall.

"Food first. Galley's this way," she told him, walking ahead of him. She ignored the tranq gun as she passed it, but heard him pick it up and suppressed a sigh. She couldn't wait until she could stop watching her back.


End file.
